


Small Spaces

by socknonny



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Apologies, Claustrophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 08:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15602109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socknonny/pseuds/socknonny
Summary: Steve avoids small spaces because they remind him too much of being trapped in the Upside Down. So, the last thing he needs is for the elevator to break down, particularly when he's stuck in there with Billy Hargrove.





	Small Spaces

Ever since the tunnels in the Upside Down, Steve has had a fear of small spaces. It isn’t something he makes a big deal out of—he doesn’t break down in public or have any fits of hysteria around his friends. He just… avoids small spaces. It’s not that hard. No one asks why he always takes the stairs; they just assume he’s trying to be healthy or some shit. 

Except, now he’s standing in the foyer of the hotel his basketball team is staying at, and they’re fucking  _ cleaning  _ the stairs, which means the stairs are blocked off, and isn’t that a fire hazard or something? Shouldn’t that be against some kind of policy? But either way they’re doing it, and he’s already delayed ten minutes by lying and saying he was going to grab a soda, when really all he did was loop around the building and hope the team had already gone up to their rooms.

They have. Except for Billy Hargrove, apparently. Because Steve’s life is like that.

“Harrington,” Billy grins and saunters over to him, his shirt thrown over his shoulder despite the coach’s insistence that they dress appropriately because this hotel “isn’t like the backwater hillbilly shit back home, okay?” and his specific instruction for Billy to “wear your fucking shirt like a normal person”. 

Steve likes Coach Richards, though he is at a loss as to how the man hasn’t been fired yet.

“Hargrove,” Steve returns, trying to think of an excuse to not take the elevator upstairs with Billy right now. It’s only four floors for Christ’s sake, but he’s not sure he can make it all the same.

“You missed out on the room matchups,” Billy continues in a slow drawl. 

His skin is still coated in a thin sheen of sweat from their practice game. It’s distracting. But the intensity in his eyes doesn’t quite match his voice, and Steve feels like maybe Billy is on edge for some reason. But not on edge looking to fight, like usual—on edge like… like he’s unsure.

“Yeah?” Steve doesn’t know where this is going. It’s not like he cares who he rooms with. It’s only one night and—oh. “I’m with you?”

He somehow manages to keep the apprehension out of his voice, manages to sound completely calm and unfazed. Maybe because he’s fighting so hard to keep a hold of his sanity anyway, since the elevator has just opened in front of them. Strangely, Billy doesn’t take his lack of response as an insult or cue to fight. Instead, he visibly relaxes.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping into the elevator and leaning against the back wall, clearly waiting for Steve to follow. 

Steve stares at the tiny, enclosed space and feels frozen to the spot. Billy frowns at him, slowly realizing that Steve isn’t following. The doors ding and start to move, but Billy leans forward and grabs them. 

“You coming?” There’s something in his voice, something a little surprised—almost hurt.

For some reason, that jolts Steve a little, penetrates the fog of rising panic and pushes him into action. Not like he has much choice anyway. He has to go up to his room at some point, and he’d rather Richards didn’t come looking for him.

“Yeah.” He walks into the elevator, stands in the exact center and closes his eyes so that he can neither see nor feel the walls around him.

The doors ding again, merry and sweet, and slide shut. He can hear Billy moving beside him, a rustle of clothing as he leans back against the wall once more. He swears he can hear the confusion in Billy’s  _ breathing.  _ Like Billy is studying him intently and can’t figure out what he’s looking at. But it’s only for a second, because as the elevator starts to move, the panic sets in. 

It doesn’t feel how he ever would have imagined a panic attack would feel. He isn’t overwhelmed by the urge to scream or cry or freak out; instead it’s like he simply breaks apart on the inside. His hands and feet are numb, and it’s as if he’s floating within his own body. He snaps his eyes open, because not seeing is worse, and his heart is already thudding so quickly he thinks he might vomit. 

In the murky reflection of the back of the doors, he sees Billy pushing away from the wall, alarm written all across his face.

“You look like you’re gonna fucking faint. Are you all right?”

Billy’s words barely make sense, but he manages to shake his head just as the elevator stops moving and the doors slide open. The second he realizes he’s safe, sweat breaks out across his forehead and he  _ knows  _ Billy has seen it. Knows Billy can tell something is up. But he just steps out into the hallway and waits to find out which one is their room. 

There is a moment where he thinks Billy might say something, but then the moment passes and they walk together in silence.

 

*

 

The second Richards hands Billy their room-key—his and  _ Steve’s _ room key—he knows he’s in for a special sort of hell. Maybe this is what he gets for being a piece of shit and hurting the only thing that’s worth having in this town. Maybe it’s someone up there telling him to finally say sorry, like he hasn’t tried a million times to think of the words. Maybe it’s just a thing that happens, and the world is ultimately pointless and devoid of meaning and nothing really matters.

Maybe he’s spent a little too long in his own head, and he needs to get some air. 

He dumps his bag in the room, realizes that Steve still hasn’t shown up from wherever he’s run off to, and leaves. He takes the stairs because he prefers to be in control of the exits. There’s a worker in there already, cleaning down the walls, and they jump a foot in the air when Billy kicks open the door and it slams back off the concrete wall, echoing in the stairwell.

“Watch it!” the worker snaps. “You can’t be in here right now.”

“Really?” Billy asks, grinning at the worker and taking the stairs two at a time. “Fascinating.”

“You little punk!” the worker yells after him. “We’re painting tomorrow. You won’t be able to pull this crap then.”

“Bite me,” Billy yells back, jumping down the last of the stairs and opening the door on the ground floor. 

He sees Steve standing in front of the elevators, and in the second before he notices there’s something off about him, his heart thuds embarrassingly in his chest. He wipes the stupid expression from his face and walks over. Steve doesn’t even notice him approach, probably didn’t even hear him enter, which is useful since now Billy doesn’t have to explain why he’s come downstairs only to immediately follow Steve back up.

“Harrington,” he murmurs, unable to control the way his voice goes immediately low and husky. He can’t help it. Can’t help much when he’s around Steve.

He braces himself, waiting for Steve’s face to twist in disgust when he realizes he’s rooming with Billy for the two days they’re staying here, but it doesn’t come. Steve doesn’t seem bothered at all, and Billy’s chest feels a little bit lighter.

It sinks again when he sees the change come over Steve in the elevator. At first he thinks Steve doesn’t want to come with him, but that’s not it. Before he has time to figure it out, they're already out of the elevator and heading down to their room.

When Billy first came to Hawkins, he thought Steve was interesting but probably forgettable. How wrong he was. He began teasing the old king of Hawkins High for something to do—the only competition worth having in this town—but then he couldn't help noticing just how little Steve cared. Not even a Californian “I'm too cool for this; don't mind me while I pose against this wall” kind of not-caring, but genuine, unaffected nonchalance. He genuinely just  _ is  _ too cool for this. Billy has never seen anyone like it, and it isn't long before he can't stop watching.

Steve throws his bag down at the foot of the bed closest to the door, and Billy follows him wordlessly into the room. Their teammates will all be in Tommy's room by now, stashing their booze for after dinner, and Billy was going to join them but… he doesn't want to.

He flops back on his bed and stares at the ceiling.

“What happened in the elevator?” he asks before he can stop himself.

For a long time, he thinks Steve isn't going to answer. Then he just grunts and says “nothing", and that's worse. Like a slap in the face, reminding Billy that there is nothing between them and there never will be.

“Didn't look like nothing,” he grinds out, jaw clenched. It probably sounds like he's angry at Steve; he’s really just furious at himself.

“Yeah? And what did it look like?” There it is again, that utter refusal to rise to the bait. Too cool for this.

Something inside Billy snaps, and he admits something he never has, just to hear the sound of it in the room between them. “Looked like you were scared or some shit. I'm not gonna laugh, you know. I don't like small spaces either.” It sounds like begging.

The room stays silent, then he hears the smallest intake of breath, right before Steve starts talking.

“Last year I thought I was gonna die in a… a tunnel. I nearly did. I don’t like not being able to get out of small spaces easily, so I try to avoid it.”

Billy turns his head sideways, watching Steve across the room. He’s sitting back against the headboard, knees drawn up and fingers twisting restlessly together. From Billy’s position on the other bed barely two feet away, cheek pressed against the covers, it almost looks like they’re sharing the same bed. The thought does stupid things to Billy’s heart. 

Steve’s eyes cut to his for a second before he looks away again. “Why don’t you like them?”

Billy blinks, forgetting for a moment what they were talking about. “Small spaces?” He shrugs. “I don’t like not knowing where the exits are.”

The movement of Steve’s head as he turns to Billy is whiplash fast. “That’s it?” 

“Whaddya mean ‘that’s it’?” Billy grunts.

“Well, I tell you I nearly die, and you just give me some one line definition of claustrophobia. That’s not telling me anything.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy snaps, temper rising despite everything else he’s feeling. Or perhaps because of it. “I don’t owe you anything.”

Steve scoffs. “Right, yeah. Because that’s why we’re talking about this. Because we  _ owe  _ each other.” He mutters something under his breath, and though Billy can’t hear it properly, it sounds a lot like, “I’m such an idiot.”

Coach Richards’ voice drifts through from the corridor, yelling through the closed door of the next room that it’s time to get ready for dinner. A few seconds later, he bangs on their door too.

“Dinner, boys. And button up your goddamn shirt, Hargrove.”

Billy is still prickling, still fuming because it feels like some hot, uncomfortable place inside him as been poked. He wants to lash out, but he's seen where that goes and it's nowhere good. Besides, he liked when Steve was talking to him. Actually talking. Like the words meant something.

Before he can think how to take it back or fix something he doesn't properly understand, Steve stands up, grabs his jacket from his bag and leaves the room. 

 

*

 

Steve doesn't know what he expected from Billy, but Billy has managed to simultaneously exceed and severely disappoint his expectations. It leaves Steve reeling, unsure, and he takes the first chance he can to escape rather than examine that closely.

His feelings toward Billy have always been complicated, but if he knows one thing for sure it's that understanding them is only going to bring more problems than it solves.

The elevators are thankfully empty, but the second he steps into one, the rest of his team appears out of nowhere. 

“Steve!”

Someone claps him on the back, and then they're crowding him into the tiny space, shoving him against the walls, completely oblivious. He knows it's written all across his face, but none of them see it. They just laugh and joke and jostle while doors ding and start to shut.

The last thing Steve sees is Billy's face as he walks up to the elevators, his expression apprehensive and almost anxious as he takes in the look in Steve's eyes.

He lasts the ride, barely. It unsettles him so badly he hardly pays attention to anything all through dinner. The conversation just sort of settles around him and he lets it, because it’s easier than anything else. Some part of him notices that Billy becomes progressively quieter all through the night, but that doesn’t have anything to do with him so he lets that go too. 

He feels like he’s been letting a lot go lately. Like, maybe the only way he can deal with the things that put him on edge, like small spaces, is to put them in some kind of mental box that blocks them off from the outside world. That way, when he can’t avoid them, at least they don’t hurt him as much.

Problem is, other things end up in the box too. Goals. Hobbies. Hope. He’s starting to let go of the good things he was holding onto as well, and one by one they’re ending up in the box. It’s starting to get pretty full. 

Something hits him in the forehead, and he shakes his head and refocuses on the table. No one is paying him any attention except Billy, who is staring at him with unblinking focus. There’s a lone fry sitting in the middle of his plate, which is strange since he didn’t order fries. 

Billy raises his eyebrows at Steve’s confused expression, looking wholly unimpressed, and Steve suddenly catches up. 

“Why?” he mouths, not wanting to yell across the table in the noisy restaurant.

Billy shrugs, a slight grin on his face as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “You looked lost,” he says in a low voice.

The words stay with Steve all through dinner, and he can’t even remember what the food tastes like. It’s strange to be noticed, to be seen when you’re used to being overlooked.

All too soon, they’re heading back to the hotel, and the staff are  _ still cleaning the stairs _ . Steve stares at the sign in horror, and wonders if anyone would stop him if he just refused to get in the elevator. 

Coach Richards is holding the doors for him, and he just can’t move. He can’t walk toward the elevator, no matter how much he knows he needs to. Richards is staring at him, and soon the rest of the guys will turn and see, and he doesn’t want to deal with that right now but he’s going to have to because it’s  _ happening _ . 

And then Billy Hargrove is there. He steps in front of Steve and pulls out a cigarette as the doors ding again. 

“Harrington and I are having a smoke,” he mutters around the cigarette, his eyes boring into Richards’ intensely.

“No, you’re not, Hargrove,” Richards snaps. “You’re going into your goddamn room so I don’t have to explain why two of the shitheads in my care ended up on the streets after curfew.”

The doors sound once more, but Richards is still holding them. 

Billy smiles, all teeth. “We’ll be up in a minute. Promise we’ll let you tuck us in.” He nods his head towards a couple who’ve just arrived and are standing awkwardly in front of the doors. “Look, Coach, you’re holding up traffic. That’s not polite.”

He’s already lit up, right there in the foyer, and Richards visibly cuts his losses and lets go of the doors, making room for the couple to join them.

“If you’re not up in two minutes I’m calling the concierge on you. And I never saw you with that crap in your mouth, you hear me?”

The doors close, and Steve’s entire body almost collapses in relief. 

“Thanks, man,” he mutters, alarmed to hear how his voice shakes. “Reckon there’s anyone in the stairwell or can we risk it?” 

Billy is already crossing the room, smoke trailing above him. Luckily there are no staff looking their way. He tries the handle, but it’s locked. 

“That might be my fault,” he admits, glancing back at Steve. “I sort of… well, anyway. Can you deal with the elevator?”

Steve stares at it, wondering if he should wait or just do it now before it gets too bad. Probably the second one, before anyone else comes to use it as well.

“I’ll be fine,” he says and crosses the room so quickly Billy has to chase after him.

He hasn’t even managed to put out his cigarette, and he looks a little shocked—a little impressed—which is good because it makes Steve laugh, and maybe this will be fine. They’re in the elevator and it’s moving and he’s not panicking. Maybe he can get over this somehow. It’s going fine. 

And so, of course, the elevator stops. 

At first, he thinks they’ve arrived, but then the lights flicker a little and everything comes rushing back at him, every single memory of the Upside Down condensed into twenty seconds. 

He doesn’t scream, but it’s close.

 

*

 

Steve goes down like a sack of rocks, and Billy doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He’s been in an elevator when it stops working before—he’d bet money on the mechanism crapping out because Richards kept holding the doors open—and it sucks but it’s fine. 

Steve isn’t fine. He’s huddled against the back wall, eyes wide and frantic as he looks everywhere for danger that can’t possibly reach them. 

“Harrington.” He keeps his voice low and steady, but there’s no response. “Steve. Steve, look at me.”

Steve looks, but his eyes are glassy and Billy isn’t sure he’s seeing him at all. Billy stares at him, realizes his own fingers are twitching manically—pulling the still-lit cigarette out of his mouth and shoving it back in—and grabs for the emergency phone. 

It rings, and a calm voice answers. “Hi there. I can see you’re stuck. Don’t worry; it’s a minor delay. Our technicians are on it already.”

“They better fucking be,” Billy snarls into the phone, and he hears the person draw in a shocked breath. He forces himself to calm down. “He’s freaking out, so make it fast, you hear me?” 

He hangs up before she can respond. He doesn’t want to have to attempt a normal person conversation while Steve is looking like this.

He needs to do something, but what can he do? There’s no where to go. No where to—

It hits him. 

“Gimme a boost,” he says, voice low and gravelly. 

Steve, shocked into motion by the command, stands and lets Billy jump onto his shoulders. Billy tries to ignore the warmth that spreads through him at the shared touch; it’s not the time. 

In a few seconds, he has the emergency hatch swinging by its hinges, and he’s kneeling on the top of the elevator and reaching back down to hoist Harrington up with him. Harrington doesn’t hesitate, and soon they’re both sitting across from one another, their feet dangling into the open hole so that they can drop back down the second it starts to move. 

The sound of their breathing is loud in the echoing elevator shaft. When Billy looks up, he can see nothing but darkness stretching into the distance. But he knows that the darkness holds something. Knows that if he really, really had to, he could climb up the emergency ladder and bash open one of the doors on the higher floors. 

Across from him, Steve’s eyes are fixed on the emptiness above them, and slowly his breathing begins to slow.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice hoarse like he’s been screaming. “I had to get out.”

“I know.” Billy watches him. Has Steve always looked like this? Like he’s poised on the edge of a cliff? Or has Billy never bothered to look close enough?

Now that he’s noticed, he can’t look away. The dull light from the elevator beneath them illuminates Steve’s features weirdly, like he’s telling ghost stories around a campfire. Even Billy feels more in control now, knowing that there are at least two directions he can move in.

“My dad will kill them, you know,” Steve says suddenly, a faintly hysterical note of laughter in his voice. “They locked the stairwell. That’s got to be, like, illegal or something.”

Billy realizes he still has the stupid cigarette in his mouth, though it’s nearly down to the filter, and he takes a drag and passes it to Steve. Forget safety laws; the way Steve wraps his lips around that cigarette should be illegal. Billy takes refuge in the darkness and watches unashamedly. 

“Your dad cares enough to take them down?” Billy grunts, vaguely impressed. His dad wouldn’t care.

Steve shakes his head, and the glint in his eye as he takes another drag says he’s seen where Billy is looking. Billy doesn’t even care. 

“No,” Steve clarifies. “He cares about rules. I’ll walk in the door and I won’t even have to tell him; he’ll smell a workplace safety violation on me.”

Billy barks a laugh, surprised and impressed in a different way. He’d thought Steve was a spoiled trustfund baby, but maybe they have more in common than he’d thought. The knowledge is uncomfortable in a way, even as it softens something inside him he didn’t expect.

“I hate small spaces because my dad used to lock me in the cupboard when I was little,” he says suddenly, surprising both of them. The vulnerability tastes like bile on his tongue.

Steve’s eyes widen and he stubs the cigarette out on the roof of the elevator. Billy wonders distantly if it will still be here in twenty, thirty years. If there will be some mark of the two of them locked away in a piece of the building where no one goes. 

“Monsters were charging at me and Dustin,” Steve says, his voice strangely matter-of-fact. “I knew I was about to die, that there was no way out, and the only thing that went through my head was ‘at least I won’t be scared anymore’.” 

Billy’s heart stops for a second, clenching tight with misery at both how lonely that is and the thought that he nearly lost Steve Harrington and he never even knew. A thought occurs to him.

“Was this that night I…”

“Yeah.”

The silence falls still between them until only the sound of their slow breathing and the ticking of Steve’s watch echoes in the space.

“I’m sorry I—”

“I know.”

“ _ No _ .” Billy insists, needs to. “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

Steve looks at him then, and for just a second his expression clears, like he’s not focusing on how trapped he is. Just for a moment, then it’s gone. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I accept.”

Something changes between them. It’s a little slow, a little hesitant; it’s hard to see each other clearly in the low lighting, to be sure. But Billy thinks Steve shifts a little closer to him, and god knows he’s been waiting for an excuse so he shifts closer back. And then maybe their hands are touching, or maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks.

He thinks Steve’s eyes drop to his mouth, but that’s impossible. It can’t be true, but Steve is looking kind of shocked too, staring into Billy’s eyes like maybe Billy has forgotten to put his guard up again. Maybe Steve can see what Billy is really feeling for once, and—

—and the elevator starts to drop.

Billy’s stomach swoops so fast he nearly vomits, and then the two of them somehow manage to drop back through the hole and fix the trapdoor back in place before the doors open on the ground floor and the staff greet them. 

“Lucky it was a quick resolution!” the man at the front of the group says while the others cheer obnoxiously. “You boys were barely stuck in there at all.” 

Billy can smell the fear on him. It’s infuriating. “We’re taking the stairs, so unlock the doors,” he growls to avoid just straight up decking the man. 

The man stutters, eyebrows drawing together in confusion and concern. “The doors shouldn’t be locked.” 

Billy walks up to him until they’re almost nose to nose. “They shouldn’t be, but they are. Unlock them.” 

Someone scrambles to obey, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Steve leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking, the fear from the elevator already in the past. He’s clearly enjoying the show, and Billy  _ loves  _ that. It makes him feel all kinds of validated, and the second they’re through the doors he grabs Steve’s arm and pulls him into a run. It’s ridiculous and immature and Billy feels like he’s regressed right back to eight years old, shoving the boys on the playground and trying to make them chase him.

They reach the fourth floor and just keep running and running until they’re on the roof and the thought of small spaces is so far behind them it’s like another world. 

“What the hell, man?” Steve doubles over, panting but laughing. “Why are we up here?”

The breeze is warm, carrying with it the scent of fast food and cars—city smells that Billy misses like crazy. 

“You can’t tell me you actually want to be cooped up in a hotel room right now,” he says, unable to keep the grin from his face. 

“No,” Steve admits. “But we’ll have to go down soon, or Richards will go looking for us.”

Billy shrugs and moves a little closer. “Spare a few minutes for me, pretty boy?”

Steve looks at him properly then, and the change from before settles back over them. It feels different out here in the open air. Like if it can exist both here and back in the elevator, which was clearly a different world, maybe it can exist anywhere.

“Is that really the question you want to ask?” Steve says, suddenly serious. 

Billy wonders if this is the only chance he’ll get to have what he wants, or if he can afford to let it go and try another time, when his skin isn’t buzzing with adrenaline and nerves. Something in him tells him he’ll have a few more chances with Steve Harrington in the future.

He seizes this one anyway. 

“Is there a question you  _ want  _ me to ask?” he murmurs, well aware of the purr in his voice. 

 

*

 

Steve’s heart flutters, still giddy from the overwhelming sense of freedom he feels out here in the open. In the elevator, he thought they’d be trapped there for hours, and yet Billy found a way to make it bearable—a way to regain some control when Steve thought he had none. 

When he realized exactly what Billy had done for him, it was like he couldn’t think about anything else. Suddenly all the times he’d looked at Billy and thought ‘what if’ suddenly felt different. Possible. Like maybe Billy wasn’t as much of a dick as Steve thought, and like maybe he might be capable of feeling something for Steve too. 

The thought surges through him now, as he stares into Billy’s eyes on the rooftop at night. The shadows make them appear darker than normal, but Steve knows the blue is still there. He could probably pick out the color in a lineup. A new feeling rises in him, and it doesn’t feel like he thought his first crush on a boy would feel. He doesn’t feel shame or fear; instead it’s as if he’s suddenly stitched together on the inside, all the broken pieces of him reformed anew. 

Is there a question he wants Billy to ask? Not anymore; he already has the only answer he needs because he knows for sure now that understanding what he feels for Billy won’t bring more problems at all. It will bring something else entirely.

He crosses the final gap between them, relishing the way that Billy’s eyes widen just a fraction. Then Steve leans in and kisses him. 

It’s so much gentler than Steve expects. Billy’s constant obsession with his own tongue takes on new meaning as they ease into a kiss so slow and languid it leaves Steve aching. Their hands find each other’s bodies, wrapping around waists and the back of their necks and drawing each other close. And then all too soon, they break away, breathless and a little blind in the shadowy moonlight. 

“Better get back before they find us,” Billy says reluctantly, breathless. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, unable to look away from Billy’s lips.

“Hey, pretty boy.” Billy sounds amused. 

“Yeah?” 

“We’re sharing a room. We’ve got all night.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Billy’s. Up close, they’re still cast in shadow but he can see the blue this time, hidden in the depths. Steve smiles. For the first time in a long time, instead of letting something go, he latches on tight.

“Babe, we’ve got two.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry this isn't the next fic in "The Spaces In Between" ^^; I'll get on that soon!


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